


Scenes from a Life

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-12-31
Updated: 2001-12-31
Packaged: 2018-11-20 10:31:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11333958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Alex reflects on images from his life with Walter





	Scenes from a Life

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Scenes from a life by Laurel

Title: Scenes from a life  
Author: Laurel  
E-mail:   
Date: December 2001  
Archive: Yes to DitB, anyone else just ask first  
Pairing: Sk/K  
Summary: Alex reflects on images from his life with Walter  
Rating: a mild R I suppose  
Spoilers: None

* * *

Winter:

Me and a gray cat silhouetted at the bay window waiting for Walter to come home. The quilt is wrapped around my shoulders, a book I was reading neglected by my side as I see his car pull up the drive. The promise of a snowball fight as his tired face breaks into a smile and his hand, covered with melting snow, slides down my back.

Later, we sit by the fireplace. The cat's yellow eyes glow in the light. The rasp of Walter's unshaven cheek against my face as his embrace tightens. I wish it could last until infinity. The fire crackles behind us, the dancing flames eating up the firewood the only sound besides our soft breathing and the barely discernable patter of cat paws.

Spring:

In the early morning I wake before him. I am awake before the percolator starts to drip and the aroma of coffee can reach his nose. I am alert before the insistent voice of the announcer blares from the clock radio.

I snuggle into his embrace, one big arm curled around my waist protectively. I arch into his sleepy hug and delight in the deep breaths that puff against my neck, the morning erection poking against the small of my back.

Outside the window, a slice of the outside world can be seen between the part in the curtains. I need some light when I sleep. I can't stand the darkness any more and he always makes sure to keep the curtains parted. The clouds are newly formed balls of white fluff. Pink edges of dawn still curl around them, reluctant to depart. The soft breeze, perfumed with spring's most delicate blossoms, pushes the clouds around. The twitter of birds at the feeders. Sunflower seeds spray against the concrete patio as their legs scramble for purchase on the perches. The distant tinkle of the bell around the cat's neck warns them away.

Summer:

We can be naked outside. The neighbors can't see us and frankly I don't care. He chases me in circles. I feint left, then go right. He can calculate every move I make. Now, I want him to catch me.

In the heat of the day, our bed is a rumpled mess of sheets. In this sacred space I am ravished, plundered, ravaged, possessed. He breaks me apart then lovingly puts me back together again. Afterwards he always holds me, caressing, touching, embracing, kissing, snuggling, until we fall asleep.

I look at the bite marks that cover my pale skin in the full-length mirror, admiring them. He looks at me with those warm brown eyes and smiles. Lust re-ignited when he sees his marks on me. I'm going to have to wear shirts with collars year round.

Fall:

The turning of gold and red leaves as the rain grows harder and flips them upside down mesmerizes me. The cat comes in shaking off the wetness and sniffing accusingly at her masters. The rain drips off the thick veined leaves and joins the misty fog. Walter starts a fire and soon its warmth envelops the house.

After dinner we clear the dishes. The scrape of forks against plates accompanies the stereo. Soft jazz. Gleaming chicken bones get separated from the crumpled paper towels. Following them into the compost heap can are curls of dimpled orange peel. The pungent citrus scent is soothing. White seeds spatter against the sides of the can. Dark potato skins, burned coffee grounds, the curl of an apple peel that he managed to shave off the fruit in one long continuous coil.

He stares at me steadily. It's a contest of wills. He crosses his arms. Stern look tempered by the twitch of a smile. He knows I'll give in. I stick out my pink tongue at him and frown. He kisses away the frown line above my nose. It's my night to take out the garbage. I concede.

I still don't do windows, mister, I mutter darkly. He just laughs softly.

Soon the season will turn again to dank, gray winter but with him I'll always be warm and safe.

  
Archived: December 30, 2001 


End file.
